“We'll hope so,” nodded Uncle William, speaking in a cheerfully matter-of-fact voice, intended to discourage curiosity.
The little girl frowned and pondered. Her elders cast about in their minds for a speedy change of subject; but their somewhat scattered wits were not quick enough. It was little Kate who spoke next.
“Uncle William, would she have got Uncle Cyril if Aunt Marie hadn't nabbed him first?”
“Kate!” The word was a chorus of dismay this time.
Mrs. Hartwell struggled to her feet.
“Come, come, Kate, we must go up-stairs—to bed,” she stammered.
The little girl drew back indignantly.
“To bed? Why, mama, I haven't had my supper yet!”
“What? Oh, sure enough—the lights! I forgot. Well, then, come up—to change your dress,” finished Mrs. Hartwell, as with a despairing look and gesture she led her young daughter from the room.